


Slaughter and May

by FrivolousSuits



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Alternative Universe - Royal Wedding, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Royalty, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-13 18:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12989724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrivolousSuits/pseuds/FrivolousSuits
Summary: In defiance of British tradition, Prince Harvey earns a position at an international law firm. Meanwhile, Mike Ross pretends to be a corporate lawyer on TV.Donna and Louis decide to set them up.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheSightlessSniper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSightlessSniper/gifts).



> Warning time!
> 
> This story portrays death, discrimination, and mental health issues.
> 
> It also references some real-life facts, companies, places and events, though personalities, motivations and dialogue are fictional, based either on Suits or my own imaginings. I want to emphasize that the opinions of my characters are not necessarily right or mine.
> 
> If any of this content may upset you, please use your best judgment in reading further.

“Mike,” Grammy says, knocking on her guest room door, “I’ve made spaghetti with bolognese sauce. Won’t you come taste it?”

“I’m not hungry,” comes the mumbled response.

Mike really isn’t hungry. He isn’t anything now, anything but wretched and orphaned and _alone_. The loneliness makes him cold, even though he’s curled on the floor by the heater with a sweatshirt on, and it makes him scared that nobody else will ever understand this pain.

His memory conjures up a gruesome image to remind him that, no, at least one other person feels this way. It’s a picture from TV of a black car, mangled with the front bashed in after an intoxicated chauffeur drove it into a pillar.

The car’s passenger was Gordon Specter, Earl of Sunderland, and he passed away at the scene, surrounded by the paparazzi who chased his car into the column, leaving behind two children. Milliseconds later, Mike recalls another pixel-perfect image of the boys trudging behind their father’s coffin at the funeral. The elder prince, Marcus, rubbed away tears over and over, while Harvey, his younger brother, stared straight in front with dry eyes, as if he was perfectly numb.

Mike knows that must only be a sliver of the young prince’s story.

 

 

The news came when Harvey and Marcus were visiting Balmoral Castle. As Marcus exploded, tearing at the antique furniture, bellowing at the gilded walls, everyone in the house ran to console him, and in the chaos they lost Harvey. It took hours for them to find him, curled up in a drafty alcove with a seemingly dry face, humming old Sinatra songs to himself.

He didn’t speak all evening.

People whisper about Harvey when they think he can’t hear, about how he seems oddly unaffected compared to his wailing brother, as if he’s some automaton that didn’t really care about the Earl.

He believes them as he enters Eton College after the funeral and throws himself into his studies, achieving top marks. He still believes them as he doubles over in his study-bedroom, struck by sudden breathlessness and panic.

He believes them until the nightmares come, images of twisted metal and flame and flesh etched beneath his eyelids.

 

 

Harvey grows into a master speaker. He can discuss anything from world politics to the cut of Eton’s morning coats with anyone from the new boys at school to the oldest courtiers who attend his grandmother, the Queen. He never has anything personal to say, but no one seems to notice that.

Princess Lily is therefore confused when she properly introduces her fiance Robert to her sons for the first time, and it’s Marcus who tries to make conversation while Harvey sits in stone-faced silence. He remains tight-lipped around her and Robert, even when he accompanies them to Windsor Guildhall to witness their civil marriage and then back to Windsor Castle’s chapel, where they receive the Church of England’s blessing. Since Robert still has a living ex-wife, the Church refused to perform the wedding itself, and they only allowed the blessing with an unusual stipulation: the happy couple had to kneel in the chapel and ask for forgiveness for their sins.

The sins, of course, were all the times they committed adultery while Gordon was still alive and married to Lily.

To prevent Lily and Robert from being wholly humiliated, the Church instructed all the guests to pray for forgiveness with them. Harvey moves his lips, but he doesn’t voice a single word.

 

 

According to the school rumors, Harvey gets his top grades because of his title. Going into their final Eton v Harrow match at Lord’s Cricket Ground, Travis Tanner, Harrow’s team captain, needles Harvey and sneers that that’s the only reason he made his school’s team.

Harvey just smirks and turns away, repressing the urge to demonstrate his batting skills on Travis’ face. Instead, he reminds himself of his qualifications (he’s a valuable all-rounder, with a batting average of 38.5 even after his shoulder injury and skill as both a bowler and fielder), and he taps into a swell of anger he’d usually hide and unveils it on the field, every time he sprints across the outfield or hurls a ball, every time the ball connects ( _thwack!_ ) with his bat.

Eton wins because of him.

Afterwards he mingles with the crowds, fans from both schools fawning over his accomplishments for once rather than his rank, and he basks in their praise. Yet he meets Travis’ eyes from across the Pavilion, and Travis jerks his head towards the dressing rooms.

After a second of confusion, Harvey follows.

They enter one of the dressing rooms, now empty, and Travis eyes Harvey for a long moment.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says.

“I’m not,” Harvey immediately retorts. “You underestimating me just won me the game.”

Travis nods, and then his eyes flit down to Harvey’s mouth and further. The strange spark between them ignites, and they surge towards each other, biting, shoving, pulling, kissing.

 

 

“You’d like to go to _university_?” Lily repeats, eyes widening.

“Are you surprised?” Marcus says, ignoring his breakfast in his hungover haze. “He’s always been the good one.”

Though he stays silent, Harvey wants to snort; he’s the easy son, but not the good one. For all Marcus’ temper problems after their father’s death, all his indiscretions with drugs and parties and strip billiards, he’s undoubtedly the good son of the family. He followed in the path of their ancestors and skipped university, instead joining the army to become a search and rescue pilot and adopting more charity causes than Harvey can count.

“What are you studying?” Marcus asks.

“Law, since I’m planning to work at a corporate firm afterwards. I know I’ll have to avoid some cases due to controversy or conflicts, but I’m set on it anyway.” He announces this firmly before reaching for the coffee pot (despite the stereotypes, tea’s never exactly been his style) and waiting for the rest of the table to swallow the revelation.

“Where did this come from?” his mother sputters.

“Extensive thought.”

He doesn’t elaborate, because how do you tell the royal family that you’re trying to escape them?

As he expected, it takes only a few more days of discussion for them to capitulate, even though his career path is most unusual for a British prince. That’s the benefit of rarely causing trouble; people realize he could be gambling away his clothes like his brother, and suddenly his wish to become a solicitor seems benign.

That’s not to say he’s never gambled away clothes. He played strip poker once with Travis and a few other Harrow guys, but he avoided international scandal by never losing more than his shoes and waistcoat.

Whispers whirl in the palace and the papers, all disappointed that he’s rejecting military service and philanthropy in favor of protecting already privileged companies. Yet as he finds his voice on Cambridge’s Moot Court team, facing off with Scottie and other peers in battles of logic and eloquence, he can’t bring himself to care.

 

 

Marcus changes completely when he meets the woman destined to become his wife. Harvey doesn’t understand, he can’t imagine remaking himself for a significant other, but Marcus seems happier, at peace. The newspapers fill their pages with romantic photos and speculation about the future Princess Kate, so they entirely miss Harvey’s own victory. He obtains interviews for training contracts, two-year apprenticeships for young solicitors, at several of England’s premier corporate law firms.

He walks into the interview for Slaughter and May, an international corporate law firm with the highest profits per equity partner in all of England, and finds a woman waiting in a perfectly fitted Dolce & Gabbana suit.

“Harvey Wales,” she says, firmly shaking his hand, “I’m–”

“Jessica Pearson, head of the firm,” he finishes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

As they sit, she gives him a smile, and he easily sees calculation underneath. “I know I’m not the interviewer you expected, but I decided to take this slot anyway, because you’re in an unprecedented position.”

“I’m aware,” he says.

“I hope you understand your title is _not_ an advantage here.”

She watches his reaction closely, likely hoping to offend or rattle him. Instead, he just replies, “Good.”

“You’re not concerned?” She raises an eyebrow.

“I know it’s a shocking sentiment from someone who’s prince by divine right, but I’m not afraid of a meritocracy.”

“You don’t think you’re God’s gift to man?”

“Oh, I might be, but it’s not because of who my mother is.”

She looks at his smirk and starts to chuckle. “All right, then. Let’s talk about your resume.”

He wins the contract.


	2. Chapter 2

“No,” Kate rants with her arms crossed, “we can’t skip the asters. They represent delicacy and femininity, they’re _me_ , we can’t just get rid of them.”

“For God’s sake, Katie,” Marcus snaps back, “I’m obviously _allergic_ _to asters_. And we’re putting the entirety of the Windsor Great Park in the Abbey as it is, no one will miss one flower species. Don’t you agree with me, Donna?”

Donna, head of the palace’s wedding planners, gives them a perfect diplomatic response that avoids taking either side, but her attention is in fact locked on Prince Harvey. As one of Marcus’s best men or “supporters,” he’s accompanied the couple all day while they’ve rehearsed their upcoming wedding. All day, he’s seemed smooth, supportive, charming and, to Donna’s trained eye, profoundly detached.

Donna has watched the younger prince for years from afar, as he’s grown from a silent boy into a silent man. Others deem him loud and gregarious; certainly he has a quick wit, always ready to smooth over any situation without giving offense. Still, she notices he never really talks about himself.

Positioned at the heart of palace drama, Donna collects rumors from hundreds of sources with varying credibility, and they all pierce only skin-deep where Harvey is concerned. He floats at the edge of the public’s awareness, and he remains at the fringes of the royal family itself, always uncontroversial, always uninteresting. His career choice is eccentric, his academic achievements objectively remarkable, but in the saga of palace intrigue they always appear as mere footnotes, forever overshadowed by more drastic changes and juicier gossip. Harvey himself may live and die as a mere footnote in history.

Yet Donna watches him and sees not a shadow of a man but a hunter laying low in the shadows, as if he’s saving his strength for prey worth striking.

As Marcus and Katie’s debate drags on, Harvey’s bored (he must be, even _Donna_ doesn’t care about the damn flowers at this point), yet it’s not empty, thoughtless boredom. There’s a tempest under that apathetic surface. Donna observes him, and she thinks she sees hidden intelligence, a repressed brilliance in those brown eyes that she’s seen before only in blue.

At that moment, her own brilliance bursts forth. She twirls around to face Katie and exclaims, “We can substitute azaleas for the asters! They’re the Chinese symbol for femininity, the colors are similar to asters, and they _won’t_ cause a repeat of today’s sneezing fit.”

She’s damn good at what she does, thank you very much.

The chaos of the wedding sweeps her back up, and she can’t spare another thought for Prince Harvey until the reception. She’s walking down an otherwise empty hall of Buckingham Palace in search of a missing courtier when she hears, “Our fee was due and payable, which is why at 7:30 I received confirmation of a wire transfer from escrow indicating payment in full . . .”

She stops in her tracks.

It’s Harvey’s voice, sharp and combative and clear. “So I'd say the ball's in your court, but the truth is your balls are in my fist.”

She creeps up, stepping carefully so the click of her heels doesn’t give her away, and finds Harvey in a hidden alcove, thundering into his phone. Normally restrained and infinitely civil, the prince sneers, “Now, I apologise if that image is too pansy for you but I'm comfortable enough with my manhood to put it out there. Now–”

He spins around to find Donna staring at him.

“– close the bloody deal.”

Hanging up, he explains, “I got a call from work.”

“I gathered.” She tilts her head. “And if I ever land in legal trouble, I might just hire you.”

“Everyone’s always surprised that I’m competent at my job,” he replies drily.

She wants to ask who “everyone” is, but he’s already striding past her, back towards the reception. Schemes start simmering in her head, but she doesn’t act on them, not until she returns to the party and Katie and Marcus are dancing in each other’s arms and Donna reads love in Harvey’s eyes, love overshadowed by longing and loneliness as he watches the happy couple.

She subtly pulls out her phone and texts Louis Litt.

Louis is an old friend of hers from her days as an actress. Now one of Hollywood’s most powerful managers, he works with a small group of highly talented actors, including one Michael Ross, a bona-fide genius and star on a popular legal drama filming in Toronto.

Donna: _I_ _need a co-conspirator_

Louis: _I need a gluten-free soy-free dairy-free cat food_

Donna: _deal_

Donna: _where is the promo tour for mike’s new season ending?_

Louis: _london_

Louis: _if you’re going to ask for backstage tickets you can’t steal the Louboutins this time_

Donna: _nobody can prove that was me_

Donna: _anyway that wasn’t the plan, I wanted to set Mike up on a date_

 

 

Louis calls the next day. “Mission Marvey has encountered its first obstacle.”

“You know that’s not actually a good codename, right?”

“Mike wants to know that his blind date is, and I quote, ‘a nice guy.’ Can you confirm?”

Donna thinks about the dressing-down Harvey gave his opponent last night. “That might be a stretch.”

“Donna . . .”

She furrows her brow in thought. “I think he’s fundamentally decent, though.”

“‘Fundamentally decent.’ Okay, I can work with that.” He hangs up, crisis avoided.

The mission nearly grinds to a halt when Donna goes to see Harvey.

“You’d like to set me up with someone?” he snorts, clearly annoyed. “I appreciate the thought, but I’m afraid you don’t know me nearly well enough to find a real match. Whoever she is–”

“Whoever he is.”

Harvey stops short, and she can see the instant his poker face drops into place. His voice is frighteningly neutral as he says, “He?”

“He.”

“Look,” he says, taking a menacing step forward, “I don’t know what you’ve heard–”

“I haven’t heard a thing,” she shrugs, refusing to back down. “I’m just very perceptive, and I perceived where your eyes went during the supporters’ suit fittings.”

He narrows his eyes. “Are you planning to threaten me?”

“No, I’m planning to help you, if you’ll let me. Now, I know it’s strange for me to approach you with a blind date proposal, but I have a gut feeling about this.”

“And are your gut feelings as incisive as your perceptions?”

“Consistently.”

Harvey takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “What does this guy even do for a living?”

“He pretends to be a corporate lawyer.”

His eyebrows leap. “You’re saying he’s a fraud?”

He’s more intrigued than scandalized, and Donna smirks. “You’ll have to meet him to find out.”

She knows she’s got him.

A few days later, the prince shows up in her office, ostensibly to give her a thank-you letter for planning Marcus’s wedding. The moment the door closes, she asks how his date went.

“It was objectively horrific.”

She blinks, briefly thrown off, and when she recovers she starts to apologize, because she was certain that they’d be happy, that Mike would make Harvey even more like himself. He raises a hand to stop her. “We’re meeting again tonight.”


	3. Chapter 3

It makes the news, though not the main headlines, when Prince Harvey moves away from Britain. The stories call it a strictly professional relocation, meant to give him a global perspective, and no one thinks it too strange, since solicitors at Slaughter and May often spend six months of their training contracts on secondment, working at firms abroad.

He’s always been an odd royal, so it’s not too strange that he ends up for half a year in Toronto, Canada.

Louis moves heaven and earth to make the network put Mike in a luxury apartment next to Harvey’s, and he’s a skillful enough negotiator that nobody picks up on why. So Harvey comes home late most nights and finds his apartment’s lights on and the curtains closed. When he hears humming from his kitchen moments later, he knows without looking that Mike is standing barefoot on the tile, chopping San Marzano tomatoes for bolognese sauce.

Pasta with bolognese sauce is their favorite dish (possibly because it’s the only one they can make reliably, without scorching multiple pots or setting off the smoke detector) and they have it almost every night. First Harvey heads into the bedroom and changes from his suit into sweats, and then he goes into the kitchen and starts pulling out ingredients if Mike’s not there yet or helping with the cooking if Mike is. Once they’ve both settled in, he talks about his day at the firm:

_ “Mike, why can’t we just hire you?”  _

_ “Maybe because I’ve never finished college or gone to law school?”  _

_ “I’d still bet you’re better than all the associates I have to work with.”  _

_ “Oh, I can guarantee that.” _

In response, Mike protests the new script he’s received:

_ “I swear, the biggest mistake I ever made on this show is attempting to learn about actual New York law, because now I know everything I’m saying is a lie!” _

_ “What’d they do this time?” _

_ “They’re having a federal prosecutor from the U.S. Attorney’s office come after all the characters for fraud.” _

_ “What? Fraud is a state crime, we checked this, and it’s nowhere near big enough to justify–“ _

_ “See, you feel my pain!” _

He complains about his own coworkers, too:

_ “I love him, don’t get me wrong, but he can’t get through a scene without laughing, and he mispronounces everything, and today he fell out of a chair!” _

_ “I bet I could take over his role. I’m an actual solicitor, and I look kinda like him.” _

_ “Wait, really? I don’t see it.” _

They joke and laugh and poke fun at everyone they know. They watch each other’s favorite movies and read their favorite books and skewer each other’s taste. They sing:

_ “I will kill your friends and family to remind you of my love.” _

_ “Harvey, that is stunningly politically incorrect.” _

_ “It’s better if an American sings it with me!” _

And they dance, and they hurt themselves laughing. They watch the news and argue over politics and talk about cases and run lines. They share secrets. They fall into bed together. 

Many nights, Mike leaves first for early morning shoots, pressing a kiss to Harvey’s brow before scrambling to his own apartment to change. When Harvey wakes, he throws open his curtains and considers the paparazzi below.

This is one story they can never have.


	4. Chapter 4

The secondment ends, and Harvey moves back to London. He continues his relationship with Mike long-distance with minimal fanfare.

The peace doesn’t last.

Harvey turns off his cell phone for a client meeting that Jessica lets him sit in on, and in the scramble to fill out forms and fix contracts afterwards he forgets to turn it back on. The other associates shoot curious looks towards his cubicle, but that’s not strikingly odd, seeing how he’s a flesh-and-blood prince. He ignores them all, putting on his headphones and blasting jazz.

He finds out from Harold Gunderson.

Harold taps the wall of his cubicle, and Harvey pulls out one headphone. “Can I help you?”

“Um, no? I don’t know. Uh, I didn’t know if _you_ know.”

Harvey glances at his security detail and finds they’re sitting calmly. “No one died, and Jessica hasn’t called me in to fire me, so what am I missing here?”

Harold hands him his phone with a search of his name pulled up.

_“Confirmed: Prince Harvey Plays For Both Teams”_

_“The Royal All-Rounder”_

_“The Prince Loves His Balls and Bats!”_

_“His Royal Highness Enjoys a Good Length”_

_“Prince Goes All Out: Beating the Bats and Coming to the Crease”_

Keeping his face free of expression, Harvey scans the list and traces the story back to a Daily Mail interview with Travis Tanner, complete with an sticky-wicket pun in the title.

“Thank you,” he mutters, shoving the phone back into Harold’s hand.

He returns to his paperwork, work has to come first, but his heart pummels against his ribs. The instant he’s done he whisks out of his cubicle and turns on his phone.

50 phone calls. Several hundred text messages. The icon on his Mail app displays “1...38,” and he doesn’t know how many digits are elided in between.

He rushes down to the file room, the office’s unofficial space for dark deeds. Upon checking that it’s empty, he locks the door and hits “Mike Ross.”

“Harvey.”

“Are you okay?”

“I . . . yes? I think that’s my line.”

“I’m fine,” Harvey tells him, and it’s a lie, he can’t breathe and his knees are threatening to buckle any second, but he has to keep talking. “I’m calling to say that we can’t keep doing this.”

“What?”

“We can’t keep seeing each other.”

“Harvey, if you’re worried you’ll be outed, I hate to break it to you, but you already have been.”

“Not the point,” he snaps. “I’m going to call Travis up tonight and ask him to a club. And after that I’ll find a pretty female model to go out with, and then a male model, and then I’ll declare it equal-opportunity prince-hunting season.”

“But,” Mike stutters, “but how does that help you?”

“I’m not the one this helps.”

“But–”

“But,” Harvey seethes, “I’ll give them new stories, new scandals, I’ll sleep with all of London before the year’s out. By the time they find you, you’ll be nothing, old news. I am not giving them _you_.”

His voice cracks at the end, and silence hangs between them.

“Do I have this right?” Mike finally says. “You’re offering to sleep with all of London because it’ll protect _me?_ ”

“You don’t know how the press is–”

“I know the press stalks your family,” he cuts in. “I know they’ll cross lines, and offer bribes, and kill if it means they’ll get a story. I know they did all that to your dad.”

Harvey’s eyelids fall shut of their own volition, and he collapses forward towards a bookcase, his whole body trembling.

“You know I’ve read all of it,” Mike continues. “From the moment I saw you I knew what the risks were.”

Harvey drops the phone on a shelf and grips the ledge so hard it leaves imprints on his fingers. He drops his forehead against the cold metal and tries to calm down, but his breathing speeds, spiraling out of control. There are pictures playing on his eyelids of twisted metal and blood, it could be Mike’s blood . . .

“Harvey?” Mike calls, voice distorted by the speakerphone. “What just happened?”

“I see the car,” he whispers.

At once Mike understands. “I’m right here, Harvey, I’m sitting in a dressing room. I’m perfectly safe.”

Harvey chokes on a sob.

“Hey,” Mike murmurs, “breathe with me. One, two, three . . .”

He sinks into the sound of Mike’s voice, breathing in, breathing out, and Mike speaks softly and gently until the world stops spinning.

Harvey finds his voice again, only slightly strained. “We have to find solutions. You need security, and my family won’t give it–”

“Louis just wrote,” Mike assures him, “and he’s already finding ways to make the network pay for bodyguards. I’m going to be okay.”

“We’re going to be okay,” Harvey says, nodding.

“Yeah, so you’re not allowed to break up with me just because you care about me.”

“Got it.” With a breathy chuckle Harvey hangs up, his prior anxiety replaced by a sudden realization. He’s done hiding.


	5. Chapter 5

Harvey resolutely ignores the horde of paparazzi outside his office, shoving microphones in front of him, taking pictures and shouting questions. He sees regular people nearby as well, with posters that he doesn’t read. He hears a few slurs hurled his way.

He lifts his chin and ignores them all, giddy with newfound strength.

When he finally makes it to the car, his chauffeur Ray informs him, “I’ve been asked to bring you to your grandmother’s.”

“Asked?”

“Er . . . Commanded.”

It’s nearly midnight when Harvey reaches Buckingham Palace. A private secretary leads him up a grand staircase, into a drawing room with gilded walls and a portrait of Queen Alexandria staring down at him sternly. His mother, grandmother and brother sit on two sofas embroidered in gold. He takes his place on the single chair set between them.

Surprisingly, his grandmother cuts straight to the point. “Tell me, is it true, what this man is saying?”

Usually he’d deflect the question; he’s never given himself the luxury of dealing honestly with his family. Instead he follows his gut and gives a straightforward answer. “It is.”

She doesn’t display any obvious reaction, but Marcus’s eyes widen. Lily openly gasps before asking, “How many other scandals are lying in wait?”

“You mean, how many other men have I dated?”

“Is ‘dating’ what you did with Travis?”

He narrows his eyes. “There are only two stories here, and neither of them are scandals unless you let them be. One is that I’ve occasionally dated men as well as women since I was a teenager, and Travis has already brought that to light, presumably for a hell of a lot of money.” He snorts. “Hope he got a good deal, at least.”

“And what’s the other story?” his grandmother asks.

“The story we’re going to precipitate tomorrow, when we announce that I’m in a steady relationship with an American named Michael Ross and we warn the press to treat him fairly.”

Marcus cracks the pindrop silence. “How long?”

“Four years.”

He breaks into a wide smile. “Well, that makes sense.”

“What?” Of all the reactions Harvey expected, that’s hardly one of them.

“You’ve been happier the past four years. At first I thought marriage was just making me see the world with rose-coloured glasses, but, no, it must have been Michael.”

Marcus’ smile warms Harvey through, and for a second tears glisten in his eyes. “You’re surprised someone puts up with me, hm?”

Marcus shrugs, teasing, “It’s not an easy job, I’d know.”

His mother interrupts them: “Harvey, are you out of your mind?”

“The doctors say no.”

“It’s one thing,” she chides, “to indulge in discreet youthful experimentation. It’s quite another to have the palace publicly announce a relationship and issue warnings, as if you’re considering marriage.”

“I’m considering marriage.”

Her jaw drops. “Are you _mad_?”

“We’ve established that I’m probably not,” Harvey replies blandly, responding to her as if she's lowly opposing counsel rather than his own mother.

“That’s legally suspect,” she snaps. “Northern Ireland still doesn’t recognize same-sex marriages, not to mention the religious ambiguity.”

“What matters is that England would currently recognize the marriage, it’s straightforwardly legal here,” Harvey says. “And once they get to know Mike, the majority of the public will be in support of the marriage, I have no doubt.”

“Oh, so you’re guaranteeing 51% support, and that’s enough?” she scoffs. “Never mind the controversy, never mind the scandal, never mind the tabloid headlines and the fights on the front page–”

“Are you–” he huffs in disbelief. “Are _you_ lecturing me on controversial marriages?”

Lily’s eyes flash. “I know what I did was wrong, Harvey, but I am not the standard here, Britain doesn’t need to go through that again. You and Marcus need to be better than I was–”

“I _am_ better,” Harvey barks, leaning towards her. “I’d say our situations can’t even be compared, but, no, do the comparison, I’d grind you into the ground.”

“It’s not a moral question,” Lily says with a long-suffering sigh. “It’s a religious one. You’re in line to be head of the Church, and the Church doesn’t recognize same-sex marriages.”

“It doesn’t matter whether the Church performs the marriage,” he shoots back. “You’re proof of that.”

“At least I had the Church’s blessing. It’s still being decided whether same-sex marriages can be blessed or not, and what happens if if they can’t?”

“What happens?” he echoes, the words dangerously soft.

“I’ll tell you what happens,” she answers, growing louder as she fumes. “If you become king, you’ll bring shame on the Church, and on the country.”

“So you want me to relinquish my claim to the throne?”

“I want you to relinquish this relationship and grow up. Why don’t you go back to Dana Scott, she was a nice girl–”

“Yes,” he deadpans, “I can go back to Scottie, even though we’ve never had a conversation that didn’t end in sex or screaming. A perfectly sound basis for a marriage, don’t you think?”

“But if you stick with a man the Church might _give no blessing_ , can’t you imagine the horror–”

“See, that’s funny,” he interrupts with an insincere smile stretched over a decade’s worth of rage, “because no blessing is better than a blessing where the bride and groom have to grovel on their knees for forgiveness first, don’t you think?”

At once Lily rises to her feet, towering over them all. “Have you no shame?”

“Not over _my_ actions, no.”

“Forget this special warning for the press, you’ll have no support at all in this relationship,” she spits. “Your marriage won’t receive the Sovereign’s approval. If you wish to circumvent that limitation, you _will_ have to relinquish your place as prince.”

Harvey stands as well, voice quiet and taut. “Are you threatening me?”

“I am,” she answers coolly. “You don’t open up much, but I’ve known you since you were born. I remember you at nursery school, ordering your classmates about and claiming all the best toys because you were ‘His Royal Highness.’ You like your fame, your title, your money, and you’re not about to give it all up for some man.”

“Harvey,” Marcus cautions, “don’t say anything you haven’t thought through.”

“I never do,” he murmurs without looking away from Lily. “You’re right, Mother. I like fame, and titles, and money. But though everyone seems to forget on a daily basis, I’m an exceptional solicitor. I’d rather be a self-made king of industry than born the king of a country. I’d rather be senior partner than prince. I can thrive with Mike and without this family, and if you push me out I will not do you the favor of hiding your prejudice and fading away quietly.”

“If you leave us,” she sniffs, “you’ll be nameless.”

“Hardly. I’ll be Harvey Specter, and I won’t be afraid to tell my story, and I can _bring this family down_.”

“Specter.” It’s his father’s name, a dead name that nearly destroyed the royal family once before, and as he utters it silence falls upon the room.

“Both of you,” the Queen finally says, “sit down.”

Her daughter obeys immediately. A second later, Harvey follows.

“We’re in a strange new world,” she continues. “Society is changing, mores are changing, and if the royal family is to survive we must change as well.”

Lily frowns. “What are you saying, Mother?”

“I’m saying you do not speak for the Sovereign just yet.”

“He just _threatened you–_ ”

“He did, and _I_ haven’t seen this much passion from Harvey since before his father died,” the Queen observes. “Under the circumstances, I believe I owe his relationship further consideration.”

“The first thing you’re going to do is investigate Mike,” Harvey cuts in, “so I’ll tell you his dirty laundry right now: he went to Catholic school, he’s a college dropout, no royal blood whatsoever, and he’s admitted to some brief experiences with soft drugs, though he has nothing on him.” He tilts his head towards Marcus, who gives an apologetic wince. “Once you verify all that, you should publish the statement I’ve drafted, asking the press not to harass or slander Mike. The way to stop this from becoming a scandal is to put the story out ourselves first, and make sure people see it for what it is, a love story that transcends convention.”

“And that’s the most poetry I’ve heard from you your whole life,” the Queen remarks. “I’m growing curious about this mystery man.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

Mike has tied a tie hundreds of times for his show, yet today his hands fumble with the knot until Harvey finally ties it for him.

They sit in silence on the drive. Looking out the window, Mike reviews his etiquette books, muttering the instructions under his breath: “Bow with your head, say ‘Your Majesty’ at first and ‘Ma’am’ after that, don’t turn your back on Her Majesty, don’t speak to Her Majesty unless spoken to, and no playing Monopoly unless it’s just you and Harvey in secret.”

As Balmoral Castle comes into sight, he contemplates the building, the sunny Scottish flag amid pepperpot turrets, the cottages added around it after Queen Victoria called it “small but pretty,” the days Harvey and Marcus spent there just after their father died.

“I want to say they’ll love you,” Harvey murmurs. “But you’ll know I’m lying, so I’ll stick to this: I love you.”

Mike turns to look at Harvey and leans in for a soft kiss. Against Harvey’s lips he whispers, “I love you too.”

 

 

Following a courtier, Harvey brings Mike into the castle with an arm against his back. Mike stays close to Harvey, eyes darting towards the heavy carpets and ornate drapes and the intricate molding around the ceilings, towards anything other than the two guests currently staring at him.

“Let’s get it over with.” Before Mike can protest, Harvey takes his hand and pulls him forwards. “Mother, Robert, I’d like you to meet Michael Ross.”

“Your Royal Highness.” Mike bows his head, just like the books recommend.

“Mr. Ross,” she says, “your visit here is most . . . remarkable.”

Her tone is icy, but Mike smiles and cordially replies, “I’m glad to be here.”

He tightens his grasp on Harvey’s hand as Lily’s eyes shift between Mike’s and Harvey’s, locked in a silent showdown over Britain’s future. 

Lily falls first, glancing away at Robert. Mike breathes a sigh of relief, and Harvey watches her surrender with a glint in his eyes. Still, he plays the polite gentleman and sparks conversation, asking about The Princess’s Trust, a charity Lily and Robert run to train and fund entrepreneurship among disadvantaged youth. When Lily doesn’t answer, Robert steps in eagerly, and then Mike responds to him with equal zeal. The two of them bubble over with ideas and statistics and all manner of dazzling insights, while Lily observes in frosty silence and Harvey wears a soft smile, his eyes sparkling as he gazes at Mike. None of them see the Queen watching them all from the doorway.

They don’t notice her until they hear the royal Corgis dashing into the room. Mike freezes again as the dogs bark at Harvey and outright growl at Lily and . . .

Scamper up to him and nuzzle his legs, their tails wagging with joy.

Mike at once kneels to pet them, as Lily gapes in disbelief and Harvey laughs, and the Queen enters the room with a smile, commenting, “I’ve never met anyone who’s charmed them quite so quickly.”

Mike shakes his head, chuckling. “I’m just lucky.”

“Oh, I think you’re more than that,” she remarks before looking at Lily and Robert. “Would you mind giving us a moment alone?”

Lily takes in a deep, steadying breath before nodding. “Of course not.”

She shoots a glare at Robert as he adds, “I hope I get the chance to speak with you again.”

“You do great work, I’m always happy to talk about it,” Mike says. “No matter what happens next” remains unspoken.

They leave, and the Queen takes a seat upon a butter-yellow chair and gestures for them to sit as well.

They sit.

They wait.

Harvey’s got his poker face in place, aggressively neutral as he waits for his grandmother to speak. Mike’s tempted to stare down at his own shoes, but he redirects his gaze towards the Queen and her odd, searching expression, only occasionally stealing glances at Harvey.

At last, she fixes her eyes on her grandson and says, “I was planning to ask whether Michael makes you happy, but your behavior has made that redundant.”

Harvey flinches. “My behavior?”

“I could explain your attempt to blackmail the whole of the royal family for Michael’s sake as mere rebellion; perhaps you’d finally hit your insubordinate adolescent phase.”

“You thought I was just using Mike for attention?” Harvey asks with a scowl.

“Not necessarily on purpose, but you’ve always had a flair for lying, even to yourself.” 

Harvey’s jaw tenses, but she’s not wrong.

“Your mother,” she continues,” thought you were simply lashing out with this relationship, and I had to admit it was a possibility–”

“But?” Mike interrupts before Harvey can.

“But rebelliousness doesn’t explain the way you look at him,” she says, “as if he’s your whole world.”

The statement hangs in the air, and then Harvey raises his chin, a smile in his eyes. She returns the tender look before turning to Mike and adding in a businesslike manner, “Now, Michael, I’m convinced that you’ll be an asset to this institution, you’ve shown you understand philanthropic duties better than Harvey has his whole life. That said, I’m afraid I’m not entirely sure you understand  _ Harvey. _ ”

“You think he’s too good for me?” Harvey says.

“I didn’t say that,” she replies diplomatically before waiting for Mike to speak.

He inhales, exhales, and begins his answer. “Every article that’s talked about us focuses on how we both lost parents to drunk driving, but that’s only the start of our connection.”

“What else is there?” she asks.

“I’m smarter than him,” he says, prompting the Queen to raise her eyebrows, “with book smarts, at least. When it comes to logic and problem solving we’re equals, and usually the best in the room. Most importantly, I share his flair for modesty.”

For a second, he wears a smirk that perfectly matches Harvey’s, but it disappears as he adds, “I know people complain that he’s not altruistic enough, that he’s bad at human connection. And they speculate that he’s broken, maybe he just was never a good person in the first place.”

He reaches for Harvey’s hand. Harvey looks down at their fingers and folds them together.

“The funny thing is,” Mike says, “he’s got a sense of duty, just like everyone wants, but he’s also got a brilliant mind. And if you want him to throw himself into philanthropy, the way to go isn’t to appeal to his emotions. Go for his head instead. Tell him about the inefficiencies in the current system. Tell him about inconsistencies, about waste and hypocrisy. Maybe he doesn’t care about people as much as he should, but then you should give him data and ideas. Let him lead real policy discussions instead of just looking pretty and reading off speeches someone else writes for him, and you’ll find he’s the finest asset this family has.”

“You know how to play me, huh?” Harvey murmurs.

“I know how your mind works,” Mike corrects. “You’re an incredible lawyer, and it’s about time everyone stopped treating it like a dirty little secret instead of, I don’t know, the best thing you have going for you. Oh, one more pro tip,” he leans towards the Queen conspiratorially, “the best way to get him excited about a challenge is to tell him it’s unsolvable. He’ll come running.”

The Queen chuckles, and Harvey bursts out laughing.

“You have erased my doubts,” she says once they quiet again.

“Glad to hear it,” Mike replies.

“And you have my permission to marry.”

“We . . . I . . .“ For once, Harvey stumbles over his words. “We aren’t engaged.”

“Perhaps you should work on that,” she sniffs.


	7. Chapter 7

A few months later Mike and Harvey are in the kitchen of their cottage outside Kensington Palace, tripping over each other as they attempt a new recipe.

“Why did we roast our own bird instead of ordering in tandoori chicken?”

“I . . .” Mike trails off. “I don’t remember. I think it was a heady mixture of arrogance and youthful naivete.”

They stand around the oven, which looks like Marcus and Katie’s kids painted it with butter again.

“Is the skin supposed to be black?”

Mike scrunches up his forehead. “According to the recipe, we were going for gold mixed with maroon.”

“And I assume it’s not supposed to smell like smoke either.”

“Hey, at least we didn’t set off the smoke detectors this time,” Mike says, reaching for an oven mitt. “Can you give me the other one?”

Harvey reaches for the other glove, only to tip a bottle of olive oil off the counter. He catches the bottle before it hits the ground and shatters, but the glove falls instead.

“Five-second rule!”

Harvey rolls his eyes. “How many studies have you memorized showing that the five-second rule doesn’t stop contamination?”

“It actually does kinda lessen contamination, sometimes? According to Lipschutz et alii’s study from 2016, longer contact times can increase contamination with some combinations of–”

“Doesn’t matter,” Harvey interrupts, “because it’s been five seconds.”

Chuckling, he picks up the glove and plods off to the washing machine. As he sticks the mitt inside, he hears an ominous crash in the kitchen.

“Mike!” He sprints back to find the pan empty on the counter, while Mike crouches over the chicken, which has inexplicably dropped to the floor.

“How–”

“I thought one mitt would be enough. Arrogance and naivete, remember?”

Mike grabs a knife and slices into the top of the bird.

“We are not eating that,” Harvey states, “seeing how it’s on the floor.”

“No,” Mike says, “we’re not eating it because it’s _raw on the inside_.”

Harvey’s eyes widen, and he darts forward to find that, yes, the meat is pink on the inside, and the knife comes out slightly bloody.

“Oh, my god,” Mike breathes, “we’re really amazing.”

They start giggling too hard to say anything more, because really it takes a special sort of talent to botch something so badly.

It takes a special sort of relationship to laugh about it.

Mike sticks the knife in the chicken and stands up to stumble against the counter and continue laughing, head thrown back. When he looks down again, he finds Harvey on one knee in front of the ruined chicken, with a grin on his face and a small velvet box in his hand.


	8. Epilogue

Donna click-clacks up to the cottage on her Louboutins and raps on the door. Harvey opens it, dressed in jeans and a gray Henley.

“Good to see you again,” he says with a knowing smile.

She returns it. “I knew I could help you out.”

They head inside, to where Mike is sitting cross-legged on a couch. He rises to greet her (“Louis always spoke very highly of you, with only the slightest trace of fear"), and then they settle in to make their evil plans.

“So what do you have in mind so far?” she asks.

“First off, we want a wedding that’s classic and elegant without feeling stuffy,” Harvey says. “There has to be a jazz band at the reception.”

“I can do that,” she says, scribbling down notes.

“Second, we want this to be the cheapest royal wedding in modern British history, with minimal cost to the state.”

It’s a testament to her acting abilities that her jaw doesn’t drop. Instead, she just raises one well-defined eyebrow and remarks, “That’s an unusual request.”

“We’re not usual royals,” Harvey replies at once. “We don’t need to have the biggest wedding to grab the world’s attention. Keeping costs at record lows will generate far more public goodwill than a flashy ceremony at St. Paul’s ever can.”

“Also it’ll annoy Lily to no end,” Mike grins, “seeing how she caused the record high.”

“A nice bonus,” Donna chuckles. “What else do you want?”

Harvey looks to Mike, who says, “I want to showcase ethical sourcing. Sustainable food, so on and so forth.”

“We know it’ll be a challenge,” Harvey cuts in, “reconciling both of our ideas.”

“Lucky you, I love a good challenge,” Donna assures them. “Tell me more.”

“Neither groom is allowed a tie width under 3 inches,” Harvey deadpans.

Mike gives him a look before retorting, “For sentimental reasons, I want boutonnieres with cannabis sativa.”

“I want a pre-nup, because I won’t survive his sense of humor,” Harvey says, but there’s no fire to the words.

“There’s one other stipulation that we both feel strongly about,” Mike tells her, turning serious again.

“Hit me.”

Simultaneously they say, “No roast chicken.”

  
  


On a clear May day, Prince Harvey and Michael James Ross sign a contract in Windsor Guildhall, binding them in a civil marriage.

An hour later, they walk hand in hand down the aisle of Windsor Castle’s chapel, the light from the stained glass windows playing in intricate rainbows across their faces. All the world watches as they receive their blessing, surrounded by crowds and cameras, stealing glances at each other and exchanging blissful smiles.

This story is all the world’s, and all their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't know if/how I could write an epilogue, seeing how the basis for this scene (Meghan and Harry's wedding!!!!) hasn't happened yet, but I eventually decided to add one in, because weddings are cute.
> 
> I wish everyone a very happy holiday season!
> 
> (Special thanks to statusquoergo for being my sounding board through all of MSS, flootzavut for helping with cricket terminology, and my mom for being the best royal-family-and-Suits-obsessed beta reader I could ask for.)


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